


Orange Rhapsody in Blue

by SnailedIt_O_V



Category: Uta no Prince-sama
Genre: Betaed by MS Word Read Aloud, Way too much description and thinking, not enough dialogue, wrote it in a day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 07:18:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14666097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnailedIt_O_V/pseuds/SnailedIt_O_V
Summary: Ren has told Masato time and time again to loosen up and have fun. Masato gets after him for not taking anything seriously. An encounter with one piece of music changes their worlds - just a little.





	Orange Rhapsody in Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Just so you know, the point of view alternates between Masato and Ren. I've separated each time it switches with some snails: V_@_~~~~_@_V

          “Hijiri, you really need to learn how to relax. Have a little fun. It's making me tense just watching you.”

          How many times has Ren told him something to this effect in the ten-plus years they've known each other? Masato sighs and swirls his brush in the calligraphy ink he's just mixed. “Jinguji, unlike you, I have a sense of self-control and responsibility that governs my actions. You could stand to be a little more serious yourself, you know.”

          “I think you know better than to tell me something like that,” Ren replies, his easy-going expression tensing a little.

          “Just as you should know better than to tell me to relax or have fun,” Masato retorts. With Ren pestering him, there's no way he can find the concentration he needs for his calligraphy. He glances at his ink. _What a waste_ , he thinks, then glances at Ren. Ren’s relaxing on his bed, lazily flipping through a fashion magazine. Clearly, he’s not going anywhere.

          Masato rises from his low table, and the rustle of his kimono catches Ren’s attention.

          “I thought you were calligraphy-ing.”

          Masato rolls his eyes at Ren’s ridiculous noun-to-verb hack job. “What I do is of no concern of yours, but if you must know, I’m going to retrieve something from the library.”

          “Right. Switch out one boring activity for another. Way to let loose there, Hijiri.”

          “Jinguji.”

          “Hmm?”

          “Shut up.”

V_@_~~~~_@_V

          In the quiet of the library, Masato thumbs through some classical piano music. He’s not totally sure what he’s looking for, only that he needs the focus that reading sheet music can bring. If he starts playing aimlessly, he won’t make any progress and, more importantly, his mind will wander to things he’d rather not think about.

          Like how right Ren is.

          Can passion and discipline exist peacefully together in one person? Can one have fun while maintaining a sense of propriety? Masato’s not sure, and a lifetime of living under the weight of his father’s expectations has skewed his sense of emotional balance beyond repair.

          He slides the etudes he’s browsing back into their place on the shelf and pulls out Bach’s _Well-Tempered Clavier_. As he pulls, another piece of music falls to the floor. Puzzled, Masato picks up the fallen folder and flips it over – it’s PDQ Bach’s _Short-Tempered Clavier and Other Dysfunctional Works for Keyboard_. With a grimace, Masato puts both pieces of music back. He never could quite appreciate parodies of classical music – despite the obvious skill required to construct them, they seem to strip classical music of all its decency and respectability. And light music too, like Farnon's _Jumping Bean_. Too trivial to meet the exacting standards of his household, and too insubstantial to match Masato’s inner passion. _Kind of like Ren_ , he thinks, then corrects himself. Ren’s not the slapstick prankster type, nor is he completely frivolous. No – he wears his frivolity like armor, protecting himself against anyone or anything that would require him to give a piece of himself away.

          He moves over to the Romantics section and browses through a piano reduction of Beethoven’s sixth symphony, reflecting on what he can remember about the composer. Yes, Beethoven had passion alright, but he also seemed miserable, like he could never get everything that he was feeling out into the world through either his music or his social interactions. Masato gets a sad, twingy feeling in his chest thinking about it and replaces the symphony on the shelf. Just because he can relate doesn’t mean he wants Beethoven as a role model. More like, Beethoven represents the kind of person he doesn’t want to become.

          He reaches the end of the row and turns the corner. He's in the modern classical music section now, still without the foggiest idea of what he's looking for. His eyes scan the shelves, and he picks out another folder at random. Ah, Debussy's _Claire de Lune_. That's a familiar piece, but too familiar to pose enough of a challenge to hold Masato's focus. His mind wanders back to Ren's nagging at him for the umpteenth time to let loose and have fun. Despite his easy-going outward appearance, Masato knows it’s just a cover. Even when it seems like he's having the time of his life wrapping girls around his finger with sweet nothings, his eyes lack that fire, that drive to do more than just toy with others. _Ha, fire_ , Masato lets a wry smile escape as he thinks about Ren's hair colour – his appearance really doesn’t match the person Masato knows he is inside. _He's like the fireplace channel they show around Christmas time – all light and noise, but no heat_. It's an insult to Masato, who must struggle every day to keep his emotions in check, to not spiral out of control. But he also thinks Ren must be struggling with the opposite problem – how to scrounge up enough motivation to get out of bed in the morning, to find a reason to keep plodding through everyday life. It’s a wonder he hasn’t given up yet, but Masato finds himself getting that sad twinge in his gut again thinking about what could happen if Ren did finally decide that enough was enough.

          He replaces the Debussy piece and moves down the row. Running his fingers slowly along the spines of the different collections, lost in thought, his index finger catches on a tall, thick folder with a deep blue cover. Curious, he hooks his finger on the top of the folder and pulls gently. There's no name on the cover, so he flips it open. It's the piano part of a piece he's heard excerpts of, but never the whole thing. Certainly, he's never seen the music or played it before. This copy has a practice CD in a sleeve on the inside back cover, so the player can practice along with the orchestra part. This…might be just what he's looking for. With a decisive snap of his wrist, he flips the folder closed and heads over to the circulation desk to check it out, along with a boombox for the CD.

V_@_~~~~_@_V

          Back in their room, Ren has finished with his magazine and is now bored. Well, he tells himself that it's boredom that he's feeling, and maybe he's right. Certainly, there’s nothing he can think of that’s worth hauling his lazy ass off his bed for. He glances over at Masato’s side of the room. Masato’s calligraphy utensils are still set up, and he contemplates helping himself to Masato’s equipment, just for kicks. He knows the basics, having grown up in a respectable family himself, but like everything else, he just couldn’t bring himself to care enough to excel at it. Well, it's easy to not care if you don't feel wanted.

          He abandons the idea of messing with Masato’s things and opts for laying back and staring at the ceiling instead. Despite the constant bickering, Ren harbours no real animosity for Masato. If anything, he's a little jealous, though he’ll never admit it out loud. For one thing, it's evident from Masato’s upbringing that he's wanted. Maybe he's being forced into a box that doesn’t quite fit him, but at least there’s a place for him. By contrast, as the youngest of three Ren never had a role planned out for him – he just got dumped into Saotome Academy by his oldest brother. The memory leaves a bitter taste in his throat.

          _Wonder what goes on in Hijiri’s head_ , he muses. _He can’t help caring about things like family prestige, even if the act crushes his soul_. Another memory bubbles to the surface, this time of him and Masato sneaking out of that boring party to play in the frog pond. His face twitches into a smile, but the smile fades when he thinks of all the other times he’s tried getting Masato to laugh again, with no success. So now, Ren can’t help picking fights with him just to make sure he can still get some sort of reaction out of him. Even picking fights is hard work – Masato keeps all his emotions behind bars, having locked them away and thrown away the key.

          Except when it comes to music. That prim, proper prince of the Hijirikawa family, who never asked for anything, begged his father for one year at this idol school – _idol school_ , of all places – to follow his heart for once to pursue music. It’s a dedication Ren could never hope to match. He scored high enough to land himself in S class without even trying, but it all meant nothing. If anything, Masato is the one who deserves his place in S class.

          _If I could have just an ounce of Hijiri’s passion…_ he leaves the thought unfinished. Honestly, he’s not sure what the result would be, and it’s too unsettling to imagine himself caring about something. Caring means opening yourself up to get hurt, as far as Ren’s concerned. But…he can’t help caring a little about Masato’s well-being. Being shipped off to Saotome Academy feels like he’s been stuffed into his own little box built from other people’s expectations, and if it’s only unpleasant for him, it must be torture for Masato, who’s lived this way his whole life.

          Ren glances at his clock. _Hijiri’s been gone for a while now…wonder what’s keeping him_. He decides that looking for Masato is worth getting up for and slides off the side of his bed to go find him.

V_@_~~~~_@_V

          Masato flicks on the lights in an empty practice room, and the space fills with a warm yellow glow. He pads over to the full-sized grand piano in the corner of the room, lifts the lid from the keys and lets it rest gently against the fallboard. He places the music on the stand and the boombox on the bench. He’s about to sit, but spontaneously lifts the top of the piano as high as it will go, propping it open. It just seems like that kind of piece. As he lifts, he hears something slide off the top and clatter to the floor. Once the lid is secure, he looks for the source of the noise. Ah…hairpins. Maybe some girl left them. They’re red, but not terribly flashy. Masato rolls them around in his hand, then places them next to the music on the stand. Fishing out his tasuki, he ties back the sleeves of his kimono and sits. His heart is pounding in his chest with anticipation – if he remembers right, this piece goes all over the place, and he can only hope to keep up with the CD. There’s no one around to watch him, no one that he has to behave properly for or impress. He can make mistakes, and no one is around to criticize him. He can get lost in the music, and no one is around to pull him out before he’s ready. He can do this.

          He loads the CD into the boombox and presses play. The room fills with the opening strains of Gershwin’s _Rhapsody in Blue_.

V_@_~~~~_@_V

          _Where the hell could that guy have gone?_ Ren wanders out of the library, confused. He had gone up and down several aisles and checked the reading tables but couldn’t locate Masato anywhere. The girl at the circulation desk was useless, though that was probably partly Ren’s fault since he can’t seem to turn off his charm. She did confirm that Masato had been there, and that he had checked out some materials, but couldn’t remember what he had taken.

          _Well, if he’s checked stuff out, chances are he’s practicing somewhere_. He makes his way to some practice rooms and walks by slowly, listening. Most of the rooms are empty and quiet, but the occasional scuffle, off-key twang, or high-pitched squeak indicated which rooms were occupied. _Hmm, that guitar style sounds familiar…must be Ikki. Violin…_ “Say, Natsuki, have you seen my hairpins?” _...and viola – Ochibi-chan and Shinomi. Piano…but not Hijiri. Sounds like the little lamb’s working on a new song._ Ren’s listening, straining for Masato’s distinct touch. There’s another piano being played in the next room he stops at, but it sounds nothing like Masato’s measured, steady hands. Ren steps closer to listen. This player’s fingers are all over the place, sometimes banging out chords like a butcher taking apart a ham hock, other times rolling out layers and layers of glissandos with perfect timing. Ren’s hooked. _Who the hell is this?_ He can’t resist and sneaks a peek.

          And gets the shock of his life.

          It’s Masato, but he’s in a state Ren has never seen him in. His sleeves are tied back, but the right sleeve is slipping out of the tasuki a little. His bangs, usually flopped comfortably between his eyes, are pinned up and to the side with red hairpins. Sweat glistens along his hairline. Music stretches across the stand in six-page segments, and several segments litter the floor as Masato frantically keeps up with the orchestra blasting out of the boombox. But Masato’s face is perhaps the most startling of all. Ren can’t tear his eyes away. Those eyes, usually so tense and wary, are now shining with sheer joy and reckless abandon. That mouth, usually nothing more than a small, tight line, is partly open, the corners turning up in something like the kind of smile worn by a conquering hero. His playing is not perfect – clearly, he’s sight reading – but it’s wonderfully, refreshingly imperfect. In short, he’s having the time of his life, just like Ren has always been telling him to do.

          Seeing Masato play with such a free look on his face stirs up something in Ren. He can’t put his finger on it, but whatever vibes Masato is giving off are magnetic. If someone handed him his saxophone right then and there, he’d jump right in and start playing whatever parts he could pick out. The music itself is compelling – a turmoil of emotions all scrambling at once to make themselves known and understood. It’s the perfect piece for Masato, and something about its freewheeling emotional rollercoaster resonates with Ren as well. But more than that, it’s Masato’s execution of the piece that grabs at Ren’s heart, goading him into acknowledging that deep down, despite the circumstances that brought him to this academy, he wants to play music for music’s sake.

          The final bars bring the music to an end, and Masato flings the last six-page spread to the floor with a flourish, just because he can. He’s breathing hard, and his eyes have a far-away look to them, like he’s disappeared along with the music’s final bars. Ren can’t help it – he starts clapping and lets out a low whistle.

V_@_~~~~_@_V

          The sound of solitary clapping and a low whistle startles Masato out of his reverie, and he whips his head around to catch sight of his none-too-subtle spy. Seeing Ren, Masato’s eyes widen, and he blushes with embarrassment.

          “You…why are you here?”

          “Why not? You were taking so long, I thought you’d gone off and left me.”

          “T-that was the point,” Masato’s voice falters, taking the venom out of the come-back. He suddenly remembers the red hairpins holding up his bangs and hauls them out, taking some of his hair with them.

          “Hijiri.”

          “What?” Masato mumbles, looking away.

          “You did it.” Ren smiles.

          “Did what?”

          “Let loose. Had fun. Whatever that music was, you were really into it. What was it? It sounds familiar, but I don’t know the name.”

           Masato finally looks up in Ren’s direction and gets a second shock. Where Ren’s eyes always looked disinterested before, even when they fought, they now had a peculiar shine to them. _Jinguji…cares? About music?_ Masato’s going to need some time to think about the meaning behind the change in Ren’s eyes.

          “It’s Gershwin’s _Rhapsody in Blue_.”

          “Rhapsody, eh?” Ren rolls the unfamiliar English word around on his tongue.

          “It…it’s a style of classical music, but…it can also describe one’s emotional state,” Masato hesitatingly explains. He’s still amazed at the subtle change in Ren’s demeanor, and doesn’t want to overload him with boring explanations.

          Ren's quiet for a bit, thinking it over. “Yeah…I think I get that. Think you could play it again?”

          “Not on your life!” Masato bursts out, embarrassed all over again, remembering that Ren had been watching him make a fool of himself.

          “A shame. Guess I’ll have to track down a recording myself. Who knows – maybe I’ll write my own rhapsody someday.” He steps closer to Masato, carefully avoiding the music scattered all over the floor. “But you know,” he says, leaning in close to Masato’s ear, “I think that was the best I’ve ever heard you play. Let me watch you again sometime, eh?”

          “I-idiot!” Masato pushes Ren’s face away, and Ren laughs. But there’s a little something extra in Ren’s laugh that makes it sound warmer, more genuine. If there’s something about Masato’s reckless playing that makes Ren laugh like that, he might consider playing like that for Ren again someday.

          Maybe.

V_@_~~~ _FIN_ ~~~_@_V

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, so...I set my iPod to go full rando on me this morning while taking transit, and the full version of Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue came on. Started writing this on the train right then and there, then squeezed in some more throughout the day. Wrapped it up at 10pm after running it through MS Word Read Aloud and you know what? It sucks, but I still like it. Hope you all like it too! Since I've already acknowledged that it sucks, if you don't have anything nice to say, just don't say it. I can insult myself just fine, thank you very much. =P 
> 
> _@_V


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